


after hours

by mixtapestar



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 20:58:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton, a.k.a. Hawkeye, became the greatest sharp-shooter known to man. He then joined the Avengers. This is what he does (with Phil Coulson) when he's not being an Avenger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	after hours

**Author's Note:**

> For AO3's April Showers promotion, day 11. If you're not familiar with the Hawkeye comic, 1) you don't need to be to read this, but 2) you should remedy that at your first available opportunity. I fell in love with Clint Barton all over again. Summary blatantly ripped from the recap page. :)

"This is ridiculous," Clint says aloud as he sits on his couch for the fifth time. Walking to the door and peering out isn't going to make 5:30 get here in faster. Though Coulson does have a tendency to arrive early.

"There's a joke in there somewhere," he mutters, causing Lucky to pick up his head and peer at him. "Don't judge me, Pizza Dog."

If dogs could shrug, Clint suspects that Lucky would have before laying his head back down.

"Dinner!" he finally decides, knowing the time will pass faster if he's preoccupied. A quick digging through his cabinets narrow his options to pasta or… pasta. He's not much of a cook. He sets some water to boil and then proves that saying about watched pots. "Seriously?" he says, turning the dial up closer to the max.

Once the water is boiling with a satisfying amount of rolling, he dumps in the pasta and makes note of the time. While he waits for that, he moves on the sauce, a jar of Ragu that he's been saving for a special occasion. "Perfect," he says, and then proceeds to fight a losing battle with the lid. He can't remember if it's cool or warm water you're supposed to use, so he goes with the second, probably manlier approach, banging the jar against the counter until it shatters in a truly impressive manner that coats his shirt, pants, and half the counter in bright red tomato sauce.

"Great job, Barton. Definitely manlier."

He quickly assesses the damage, and it's clear he's going to have to change. He rushes into the bedroom to go through the whole "how casual is _too_ casual" process again, but most of his shirts have been tossed around the room now from the last process, and he can't remember what's clean and what's not. Lucky follows him into the room belatedly, and Clint sighs in his direction. "This is your fault, you know." Lucky huffs and turns back around. "Aww, come back, I didn't mean it!"

With a slight chuckle, Clint returns to the mess and begins picking up random pieces to review them for cleanliness.

He's still in the middle of this process when he hears an unfamiliar noise and, after a moment of intent listening, realizes it's coming from the stovetop. He rushes back into the kitchen in his boxers, past the sauce-soaked counter and straight to where the pasta's boiling over the side of the pot.

And that's when Coulson opens the door with the key Clint had foolishly given him to "make it easy."

"Okay," Clint says as Coulson takes in the scene before him, "this looks bad."

After several interminable moments and a long, assessing look from Coulson, a smile finally breaks out. "I've seen worse." He closes the door behind him and sets the beers he brought on a sauce-free section of the counter, immediately grabbing paper towels and helping to clean up the mess. Clint follows his lead and removes the pot from the heat, immediately pouring all of its contents into the strainer in the sink and from there into the trash.

"We could've salvaged that," Coulson reprimands.

"Rather order a pizza," Clint says, already grabbing the phone. Lucky perks up - he knows his favorite dinner by name.

"You have a dog," Coulson says, surprised.

"Lucky, Coulson. Coulson, Lucky. He likes pizza," Clint explains before quickly being sidetracked into his delivery order.

When he hangs up the phone, Coulson's crouched down on the floor petting the dog. Without looking up, he tells Clint, "You should call me Phil. When we're not at work."

Clint smiles. "Yeah?"

Coul-- _Phil_ gazes up at Clint and does that long, up-down glance thing again, reminding Clint he's still in his boxers. "If you like," he finally answers, and oh, Clint _does_ like.

"I should get dressed," Clint says and takes off before something embarrassing (whatever, _more_ embarrassing) can happen. "Go ahead and turn on the game!"

When he returns to the living room, having foregone the whole "casual" dilemma in favor of an outfit that might make Phil give him that look again, Phil is sitting on the couch with a beer and the remote, but the TV is off.

"Shit, do you not know how to work it either? We might need to call Tony--"

"I didn't actually come here to watch the game," Phil says, stunning Clint into silence. "In fact the only games I care about watching aren't even played this time of year. And given that all that happened when I turned on the TV was a prompt to auto-find channels, I think you probably don't regularly watch the game either."

Clint blinks back at him, still a little thrown. "No," he admits.

Phil takes a long swig of beer and rises from the couch. "So I take it you invited me here for some other reason?"

Clint swallows. "Yes."

"And what reason is that?"

Clint tries to will the pizza to get here. Any minute now, right? This minute would be great. "To, you know, hang out."

"Hang out," Phil says flatly.

"Yeah!" Seriously, any second… Pizza doorbell…

"We go out for drinks after work all the time."

"Yeah, with the _rest of the team_ ," Clint says, pulled out of his psychic attempt to summon the pizza guy. "After one or more of us has usually _almost died_."

Phil's mouth has gradually been reverting to that firm line Clint usually associates with world-ending bad news or having to deal with Tony Stark. He usually doesn't like what follows that expression. "So there's no other reason you wanted me to come over tonight?" he asks, tone challenging.

"No!" Clint insists, exasperated. "Why are you giving me that look!"

"Why won't you admit you had ulterior motives for inviting me?" Phil asks, his voice rising.

"Because you have strict rules about not dating in the workplace!" Clint shouts back, and _that's_ when the doorbell decides to ring. "Fucking finally!" Clint says, whirling toward the door. The pizza guy looks scandalized, which means Clint's walls are thinner than he thought, so he works hard to maintain a friendly smile and tips the guy 30% for good measure.

He turns instantly toward the kitchen once the door's shut, intent on ignoring Phil so that he can leave without needing to make an awkward excuse. Phil shoots this plan to hell by following him into the kitchen. Clint guesses he really wants the pizza.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. disbanded that rule months ago," Phil says, his voice back to normal. "After that whole thing with Steve and Agent Carter. I know you know; you were the one that encouraged Steve to make his move."

Clint blinks at the pizza. He should've gotten extra pepperoni. "That first time I asked you to come over and have a few drinks," he tells the disturbing lack of pepperoni, knowing the message will get to its intended recipient, "you told me that 'fraternizing outside of work could severely damage our work rapport.'"

Silence. More silence. And then, "That was over a year ago! The Avengers weren't more than an idea at that point!"

"Yeah, and neither was I to you," Clint says, immediately realizing that makes no sense.

"Jesus," Phil mutters, and before Clint can come up with a new-and-improved comeback, Phil yanks him by the shirt to turn him around and then plants a kiss on him right there in front of the pizza box.

"But what about the rules?" Clint asks once Phil has pulled back, before the shock has entirely worn off.

"I'm trying to tell you that there _aren't_ any more rules," Phil says, exasperated. "Is _this_ what you've been waiting on this whole time?"

"No more rules?" Clint echoes back, like he's just remembering how words work. "Oh my _god_ ," he says, and dives back in to kiss Phil properly. They have a lot of missed time to make up for.

"Welcome to the conversation," Phil murmurs against his lips, then upgrades the kiss from 'oh good your mouth is on my mouth' to 'holy shit where did you learn to do that with your tongue?'

Clint is content to keep going at this increasing pace, but then Phil suddenly laughs against his mouth and pulls back slightly. "I think your dog is hungry," he says.

Clint is fighting to figure out what sort of weird innuendo that is until he realizes Lucky is pushing at the back of Phil's legs. Could be pushing them out from in front of the pizza, could be pushing them toward the bedroom. On the off-chance it's the latter, Clint grabs him a small piece and hands it over, saying, "Good boy."

Phil smiles down at the dog, then at Clint. "We should eat the pizza before it gets cold."

"Aw, man," Clint says. He points a finger down at Lucky and says, "Bad dog," but Lucky keeps munching on his reward slice and doesn't catch the change.

Phil grabs the box and makes his way back to the living room. "Pizza first, then we'll have to find something to do in place of the game we're not watching."

"Seriously?" Clint says, grabbing two beers and rushing to match his pace. "I have _so many_ ideas."

"Good ones?"

" _Great_ ones."

"Alright then," Phil says, settling on the couch with his first slice of pizza. "Convince me."

So, by the time the pizza box is half empty, Clint does.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to [follow me on tumblr](http://candidlily.tumblr.com) if you so desire! <3


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